


Breaking the Silence

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-13
Updated: 2006-10-13
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Sirius is afraid of the answer. Remus is afraid of the question. So instead, there is silence. April 1980.





	Breaking the Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

****Title:**** Breaking the Silence

****Pairing:** ** Remus/Sirius

****Rating:** ** NC17

****Type:**** One-shot, Complete

****Warnings:**** Slash

****Summary:** ** Sirius is afraid of the answer. Remus is afraid of the question. So instead, there is silence. April 1980.

****Author’s Notes:**** They’re in the same universe as in my “Dirty Words” story, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this one. This is my first slashy smut. This must mean I’m fully converted into Slashdom. There’s no turning back now.

 

XXXXXXX

 

The house had been quiet for two weeks and four days. The silence hung in the air like an ellipsis, a trailing off of words, or a question mark, only Sirius was too afraid of the answer and Remus of the question, so neither of them spoke. Of course, Remus didn’t actually live there. He came over some nights, some days, and then went home to his mum, afraid to leave her alone for too long now that his dad was gone. 

 

When he stayed the night, he usually stayed for three or four days before going home for a while. It was just how it went. Sirius asked him to just move in indefinitely, but Remus always demurred, mumbling things about his mother and being a werewolf and not being able to pay for a room and not wanting one for free.

 

Used to, they would lay on their backs in the small back garden; Sirius would roll Muggle weed into thick joints and they would pretend to be philosophers and figure out how to rid the world of its problems. Or they might Apparate to Diagon Alley and slip through the Leaky Cauldron into London. They’d frequent the bars and drink things like __tequila__ and __Killian’s__. Sometimes it would be the cinema, sitting through complicated black-and-white French flicks where they made things like __je t’aime__ sound more beautiful than the words were in English, as though they meant something significantly more just because they were in a different language.

 

If they found Muggle London or the small cottage Sirius had bought with his uncle’s money boring, they’d go visit James and Lily – now Lily Potter, something that made Sirius’ head still whirl – and mock the size of Lily’s stomach by showing up with pillows or Quaffles under their shirts.

 

But for two weeks and four days, none of that had happened. Remus’ mum had gone to stay with her sister for the month of April and he found himself without an excuse to leave and knowing if he brought up the subject, they would have to talk about whatever it was Sirius refused to say.

 

It wasn’t the type of heavy silence that weighed down on Remus’ shoulders normally, the kind that happened after a fight when neither of them wanted to apologize or admit he was wrong. Of course, whoever __was__ wrong would relent after a day or so, issuing out their apologies with strategically placed kisses and touches. Sirius had touched him once since they stopped talking, only to act as though Remus’ skin was crawling with disease and withdrew his hand so quickly he almost lost his balance and fell over.

 

Remus was beginning to feel sick, as though his organs had jumped around inside him and rearranged themselves, his stomach now located in the back of his throat, making meals difficult to swallow. He wasn’t sure where his heart was anymore; every time Sirius entered a room it beat so fast he could feel his pulse all over his body, like thunder in his ears and a bass-drum at his temples.

 

It was all becoming too, too much and when that second week and fourth day started turning into the fifth, Remus couldn’t contain the words in his mouth any longer. Something had to be said.

 

“I’m going to go back home tomorrow. After breakfast.”

 

Sirius had been lounging in one of the large leather armchairs near his fireplace. A tattered copy of something with a __first edition__ stamp what was left of the spine was gripped tightly in his hands. It was the type of book that smelled like must and age and for all Sirius’ faults, his apparent lack of attention span, grace, and humility, he was a very clever bloke. Reading was simply one of the hidden depths Remus has discovered upon staying so many days and nights in Sirius’ house.

 

The book fell to the floor as Sirius stood up, his bare feet against the wooden floor, his jeans slung so low on his hips the hem dragged on the floor. Remus watched him go, the strut that carried him into the next room, the _swish-swish_ sound of the thighs of his jeans rubbing together as he walked into the kitchen.

 

“Come on,” said Sirius, turning his head just enough to let Remus know it was a request, but not enough to look at him.

 

When Remus entered the kitchen, Sirius was already placing two shot glasses on the table. He had to push a pile of __Daily Prophets__ and __Quidditch Digest__ over, but he managed to clear a place for the glasses.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“This conversation is going to need alcohol. Lots of alcohol.”

 

“Alcohol doesn’t actually solve anything, you know.”

 

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, right.”

 

“Only __alcoholics__ think it solves something.”

 

“Remus, just – just shut the fuck up, all right? Drink your shot.”

 

Remus sat down at the table and eyed the clear liquid. He picked up the glass and sniffed it. “You’re giving me __straight vodka__?”

 

But Sirius had already thrown his down the back of his throat, shutting his eyes against the burn as he always did.

 

“Why’re you leaving?” he asked.

 

Remus, still eyeing the liquor, replied, “This is the longest we’ve talked in two weeks. There’s something I think you want to say. I don’t know. But.”

 

“But? You can’t end a sentence with ‘but.’”

 

“I didn’t. I started a sentence with ‘but’ and just didn’t finish it.”

 

“So bloody finish it.”

 

“Why are you so hacked off, Sirius? What did I do? Just tell me because I cannot take the stress.”

 

“You’re such a girl sometimes,” mumbled Sirius.

 

“Fuck you, Sirius. Be a man for once. If you want me to go, just tell me and I’ll go, but this silent treatment? Talk about being a girl!”

 

Sirius turned his back to Remus, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop, his elbows locked.

 

“What did you say?” asked Remus, trying to control his anger.

 

“I said, it’s bloody hot in this house with that fireplace going and you’re still wearing that jumper.”

 

Remus glanced down. He had on his favorite jumper, charcoal gray with the elbows beginning to wear thin. The wool was no longer coarse and itchy, but soft and comfortable. And Remus definitely didn’t understand why Sirius would be angry about this jumper. It wasn’t even his.

 

“What’s wrong with my jumper? It’s cold outside.”

 

“But it’s warm __in__ side.”

 

“What? So?”

 

Sirius turned around. His glances danced all over the room before settling on Remus’ face, focusing on his nose, his cheeks, his mouth, avoiding eye contact.

 

“Where’d you go last month? You weren’t still working at your job – I stopped by and they said you had left a week before that.”

 

“I can’t tell you.”

 

“Of course not.”

 

“Dumbledore said—”

 

“That old frog?”

 

“Old – what?”

 

Sirius groaned exasperatedly. “Why can’t you tell me?”

 

“He asked me to specifically not tell you.”

 

“Are you kidding? Why’d he do that?”

 

Remus shrugged. He knew perfectly well why. Dumbledore had said Sirius would prevent Remus from going and it was probably true; Sirius would do just about anything to protect him – to protect any of his friends, really.

 

Sirius looked Remus straight in the eye. His stare was unnerving. It was a mix of anger, regret, and fear.

 

“Take it off.”

 

Remus’ brows furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

 

“The jumper. Take it off.”

 

“Fuck you!” cried Remus. “You don’t get to just try and sleep with him after ignoring me for a week. I’m pretty passive and let you walk all over me usually, but this time, no. Just – __no__.”

 

“I’m not trying to sleep with you,” snapped Sirius. “I want to see what’s on your arm.”

 

“What?”

 

“Your arm – your bloody __arm__. When you came back from your super-top-secret holiday, you wouldn’t let me see your arm. And I still haven’t seen it. What’s there that you don’t want me to see?”

 

“What are you—? Sirius, you’re not making sense.”

 

“Of course I am! Fuck! Just show me your arm.”

 

Remus shook his head in confusion. He shot out of his chair, his confusion having grown into anger, and pulled at his jumper, lifting it over his head and throwing it at Sirius.

 

Sirius batted the jumper away. He walked to Remus and picked up his arm and examined it. The flesh was smooth and covered by light brown hair and one very thin, but very long, scar. Sirius’ frowned deepened and he dropped Remus’ arm. He picked up the other one and stared: it had a scar that had barely healed, still red and deep. Sirius turned Remus’ arm over; another scar was on the other side, the same shape only pointing in the opposite direction.

 

“That’s a – a—”

 

“Bite mark,” snapped Remus, ripping his arm from Sirius’ grasp. “Dumbledore ask me to go try and talk to some British werewolves rumored to be in German – wait. What did you think was on my arm?” Remus’ eyes widened at the sudden realization. “The silence – you didn’t talk to me for two weeks – __you thought I had the Dark Mark__?”

 

Sirius sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist. He held on more tightly than he ever had before, burying his nose into the cotton of Remus’ white undershirt.

 

“I’m sorry!” he mumbled, turning his head to the side so that his cheek was against Remus’ shirt-covered stomach. “Peter was saying the most horrible – and you wouldn’t __tell__ me where you were going and I didn’t believe Peter, I didn’t. And then James started to – and he didn’t really believe either, only it all made so much sense. When you wouldn’t show me your arm …”

 

“You would’ve yelled and thrown something at me.”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes. Get off me.”

 

Sirius held on more tightly as Remus tried to push him away.

 

“Please, Sirius, get off me. I need to – just be away from you.”

 

“I didn’t want it to be you and it’s not you. Thank Merlin.”

 

“But you thought it was me.”

 

Sirius shook his head violently. “God, Remus. You smell good. I’ve missed the smell of you.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been here for two weeks.”

 

“Even when we were fighting, y’know, it was better than you not being here at all.”

 

“Sirius, __shut up__. Get __off me__.”

 

Sirius finally loosened his grip and Remus pushed him away, adjusting his t-shirt and picking his jumper off the floor.

 

“If Peter had suggested __you__ were a Death Eater I never would have believed it. Not for a single second.”

 

“I know,” said Sirius, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m shit. I’m complete shit. If you want to leave, go ahead, I shouldn’t stop you.”

 

“D’you want me to go?”

 

“No! I want you to stay. Christ. This is fucking ridiculous. I was angry at myself for thinking it could even possibly be you. I knew you would never be the spy, but I kept thinking __what if__ and then – then I was so bloody furious because even if you __were__ the spy it wouldn’t matter. I’d never – never want to leave and I’d – you know – always kind of love you and it made me sick.”

 

“What made you sick?”

 

“Knowing that even if you completely betrayed us – me – I would still love you.”

 

Remus swallowed. Sirius was still on his knees, a hand rubbing at his temple, looking lost and dejected, like an abandoned child. Towards end of seventh year, they’d starting their relationship, only back then it wasn’t so much a relationship as it was a lot of awkward kissing with Sirius trying to be the expert and Remus not having any idea what he was doing at all. It had never been fully discussed, they were both in agreement; they were together, in the very essence of the word, as though they belonged to the other. Even so, neither of them had spoken about love – or even like or lust. It was a shock to hear Sirius say it and his moody behavior over the last two weeks began to make more sense.

 

“... oh.”

 

“ _ _Oh__?”

 

Remus shrugged. “I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say, to be honest.”

 

“Well ... me neither. Look. I’m sorry – I’ve never been so sorry.”

 

“Not even after you sent Snape into the Shack?”

 

Sirius’ face fell. “Fuck, Remus. You’re right. I’m shit,” he said again, “I’m complete shit. But can you kind of understand why I was so – why I thought it?”

 

Unfortunately, Remus __did__ understand and it made his anger ebb away. He wanted to be furious, he wanted to feel betrayed and wronged, but he couldn’t muster up those feelings. 

 

“Next time Dumbledore sends you somewhere, will you just tell me where you’re going? I can’t believe he’d send you by yourself!”

 

Remus shrugged. “I’m all right. It’s not like if they bite me it would change anything. I’m already a werewolf.”

 

Sirius nodded. “I know, but I can go with you – it’s not like I have a job or anything.”

 

“Don’t be stupid.”

 

“Not __with__ you. I don’t want to get bit! I meant like close enough so if you get hurt I can heal you. I’m actually rather good with healing charms and all that.”

 

“Yeah – why is that? You didn’t take Charms seventh year when we learned about them.”

 

“When your dad hexes you every other day you’re sorta forced to learn – do you forgive me?”

 

“One day I’m going to teach you how to talk in complete sentences all the time.”

 

“You __know__ that’s impossible. My attention span doesn’t work like that.”

 

“Of course it doesn’t.”

 

“We’ve been over and over it – about my attention span.”

 

“I forgive you,” said Remus, “ _ _but__ that doesn’t mean I’m particularly happy with you either.”

 

Sirius smiled. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Quit saying you’re sorry.”

 

“Er, all right. Can we get on to the making up part?”

 

Remus didn’t say anything. He wanted to say yes; he missed being touched by Sirius, but he was still hurt. It didn’t seem to matter what he would have said, for Sirius was standing up and crossing the kitchen towards him. Remus took a step back and ran into the countertop behind him.

 

Sirius’ hand curled around the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in his hair, and he pulled Remus forward, kissing him hard. His tongue ran across Remus’ bottom lip before entering his mouth. 

 

Remus stood there, not moving, not joining in. He’d wanted this for two weeks, but didn’t want to give in so easily, didn’t want to forgive so quickly.

 

Sirius pulled back, his fingers still knotted in Remus’ hair. His eyes were bright and looked right into his, as if to say, __please__. That was all it took before Remus’ resolve broke. With swift hands, he tugged on the bottom of Sirius’ shirt, lifting it over the other man’s head and tossing it across the kitchen. He brought their mouths back together, sinking his teeth into Sirius’ bottom lip and tugging on it gently. A rush of relief washed through his chest; the fight was over, they’d survived it and were now coming back together.

 

Then there were hands under his t-shirt, roaming over his skin, and a mouth on his neck. The mouth kissed his skin and sucked. Remus maneuvered his body so that his neck was free. Sirius glanced at him with a worried expression, but Remus ignored it, attaching his teeth to Sirius’ shoulder and biting into his skin. He didn’t do it hard, just enough for Sirius to feel it and knowing that it would leave a mark. Somehow, after the two weeks and four days of not talking, Remus wanted to brand Sirius, to let everyone know that there was someone left love bites on his neck and shoulders so that anyone interested would back off.

 

Remus had to remove his mouth from Sirius’ collar bone as his shirt was lifted over his neck. Chest to chest, skin on skin – it felt brilliant and new again. Remus pushed against Sirius, causing him to walk backwards until he collided with the table. Sirius pulled his wand out of his jeans pocket and pointed it at the table, muttering something into Remus’ mouth, and then dropped his wand on the floor. The table cleared of all the newspapers with a flutter of quickly moving paper. The shot glasses clattered to the floor and exploded into tiny shards upon impact. It didn’t matter, neither of them cared, and they’d clean it up later. 

 

Sirius undid the button of Remus’ trousers and then undid his own. Remus got the point and finished undoing his fly and pushing his trousers and pants down his legs, stepping out of them and kicking them across the tiled floor. Sirius was much quicker and as soon as Remus had finished undressing, he found himself pressed against the other man’s front. His half-hard cock rubbed against Sirius’ fully-erect one. Ah, __God__ , how he’d missed this.

 

Their mouths were together again, their tongues aggressive, as though battling against the other. Remus ripped his mouth away and immediately kneeled in front of Sirius.

 

“I thought you were a – it should be me doing that.”

 

“Shut up.” 

 

Remus blew air across Sirius’ erection.

 

“Jesusfuck, your breath is cold!”

 

Remus snorted and licked. He covered his teeth with his lips and drew Sirius into his mouth. His fingers curled around Sirius’ base and worked in time with his mouth. Over the years, Remus had learned the sounds of Sirius’ breathing – the quick breaths when he was first turned on and the longer, more labored ones when he was trying to hold his orgasm back.

 

“Nauhhhh,” Sirius moaned, his fingers sliding through Remus’ short brown hair.

 

His breaths were beginning to get long as Remus sucked harder for a moment. He then released Sirius altogether and listened to the almost-pained sounding moan that escaped from his throat. Remus stood, took Sirius by his shoulders and turned him around. Ever since they first got together, Sirius’ only complaint regarding their sex life was that Remus wasn’t exactly quick to initiate things. He was eager and keen on everything they did, but getting him to kiss first was about as easy as teaching a dragon vegetarianism. For him to be doing this now, seemingly in charge, was a turn on for Sirius and Remus knew it.

 

Once Sirius’ back was to him, Remus pushed down on his shoulder blades and kept the pressure until Sirius’ chest met with the wood of the tabletop. Remus watched his thin fingers trail down Sirius’ unblemished skin. He glanced down at the floor; there was one of their wands, dropped on the floor. Remus picked it up and looked around the kitchen.

 

“ _ _Accio oil!__ ”

 

A small bottle of weird Muggle body oil from the windowsill flew into Remus’ hand. It was weird against Remus’ fingers, and he put on enough for them to be slick, but not enough for the oil to drip. Remus leaned over Sirius’ back, placing a kiss on his shoulder blades while moving his hand down, fingers disappearing between Sirius’ arse. At first there wasn’t much of a reaction, but then Remus curled his fingers slightly, right __there__ , and Sirius’ backside wiggled against his hand.

 

“Nuaaahhhhhh,” Sirius groaned again.

 

Normally Remus might have smirked, but all his concentration was on Sirius, working his fingers in him … just a few moments more.

 

“Guhhhh,” was Remus’ moan as wiped some of the oil from his fingers onto his erection and slid into Sirius’ body. 

 

They’d always been equals in the past and would go through cycles where Sirius would be on top for weeks at a time and then suddenly something would happen and they’d switch, leaving Remus in control for a while. Remus hadn’t been in this position, in Sirius, for over a month. He also missed this as much as he missed Sirius himself – __almost__.

 

His eyes couldn’t focus on anything until the movement of Sirius’ hand to the front of his body grabbed hold of his attention. Another groan flew between Sirius’ lips as his hand began working on himself. And then Remus was coming and Sirius was coming and they were a tangled mess of quick breaths, heaving chests, and limp limbs. Remus’ knees felt weak and he pulled out of Sirius and all but fell into one of the kitchen chairs. Sirius didn’t move, he was splayed out on top of the table, eyes looking dreamily at something on the bare wall.

 

“Have I killed you?” asked Remus.

 

“Ugh.”

 

“I don’t know what that means.”

 

“Means ‘ugh,’” Sirius clarified.

 

Remus took in a very long, slow breath and held it for several seconds before exhaling.

 

“I missed you,” he confessed. “Missed this.”

 

Sirius nodded and pushed himself off the table. He looked down at the floor where his come had fallen. He quickly Vanished it and turned to Remus.

 

“I need a nap.”

 

Remus nodded his agreement and allowed himself to be pulled up from the chair and led down through the living room and into the corridor to the bedroom at the very back of the house. They both collapsed onto the unmade bed. Remus lay on his stomach and breathed in the smell of the sheets as Sirius’ fingers crept to the small of his back.

 

“You should stay,” said Sirius quietly.

 

“Mmmm.”

 

“I mean it. Don’t go back home – or do if you make sure it’s to pack your things to come here.”

 

“James’ll ask questions.”

 

“He always asks – he’s oblivious. He never asks the right ones. Stay here.”

 

“Mmmm.”

 

“Moony, I mean it.”

 

“All right,” said Remus.

 

“Really?”

 

“Sure. Go to sleep.”

 

Remus took in another deep breath and let himself slowly surrender to his dreams. If Sirius had opened his eyes to look, he would have seen a smile on Remus’ face, hidden behind sleeping lids and a tired face, but Sirius knew him so well he would’ve known what he was looking at it, and then he would have smiled as well.

 

XXXXXXX

 

****End.** **

 

XXXXXXX


End file.
